I Want to Stay Here
by AFishNamedSushi
Summary: Nobody would ever make that line between pretend and reality so blurred, nobody would cause the tears and emotions her body displayed when acting to be drawn from so deep within, and nobody would be both the best thing that ever happened to her and ruin her life at the same time (AU)
1. Prologue - First Kisses & Pastries

The first time Darcy Lewis kissed a boy she was seven years old.

It was a television commercial for some long-forgotten microwaveable breakfast product that her mom still has saved on an old VSH tape stuck in a dusty box in the garage back home. She doesn't remember much about the actual filming of the commercial itself, only that she was lead through a giant warehouse to a curtained-off corner that made up the small set with a kitchen counter and painted backdrop of appliances. The experience was surreal for her young mind, seeing such a domestic setting smack in the middle of a bustling crowd of people shouting and running with cords and lights. It was November and San Francisco was experiencing a severe cold front, her fingers cold where she held tight to her mother's hand. She recalls that she brought her stuffed animal, Patches from 101 Dalmatians, and looked down at him while her mom spoke with the other adults as they poked and prodded at her hair and clothes, removing her warm jacket and telling her to change into a dress with little purple flowers.

She vaguely remembers the first time the commercial was shown on local television. Her mother sat on the couch, primed on the edge of the seat with the remote control in one hand, wavy brown hair still wet from a hasty shower and manicured finger primed to hit the record button at a moment's notice. She looked to her father and older sister sitting next to her mother on the other side of the couch, her sister engrossed in a book propped on her knees and her father with his head lolling forward and jerking back as he tried not to fall asleep. She was playing with Patches again, twisting his little ears around in her small hands, when her mother made an excited noise and rushed forward frantically to press the button on the remote. The commercial lasted all of twenty seconds, but in her young mind it seemed to last forever as she watched her mother's blue eyes fill with proud tears. She didn't watch the television and watched her mother instead, and when people who saw her at the local supermarket commented on it and wanted to talk, she grabbed her mother's hand and hid behind her legs.

Her mother played the VHS tape of the commercial a few times over the years, mostly on a whim whenever the extended family got together during the holidays. It was queued up along with old slideshows of family pictures, the presentations getting shorter and shorter as time went on and family couldn't make the trip out to the West Coast for the holidays. Her parents divorced two years after the commercial's filming, and her mother seemed to become less inclined to play any of the videos. When her mother met and married her new husband, the videos stopped all together. The tapes were boxed up and put in a cardboard stack in the garage next to old winter clothes. It stayed there until she was thirteen, when a conversation with a school friend prompted her to fish it out and dust it off.

"He's the first boy you've ever kissed, right?"

Darcy's friend nudged her shoulder and nodded across the cafeteria at a crowd of boys laughing in the corner. She followed her friend's gaze and caught the eye of Bruce Banner, small and skinny with a mop of dark hair too large for his head that hung into his eyes. She blushed and turned back to her friend.

"Not really," she said defensively. "I kissed a boy in a commercial when I was seven."

Her friend stopped with her French fry halfway to her mouth, before fixing her with an incredulous look.

"Come on, Darcy. That doesn't count."

That night she went home and rummaged through the garage for a half an hour until she found the box with old family movies. Luckily they still had the old VHS tape player lying next to it, and she spent an inordinate amount of time hooking it up the television in the living room late that night after everyone else had gone to bed. The quality of the video was bad, static lines crisscrossing the screen and the sound dubbed a little off. She watched the younger version of herself, big blue eyes wide and brown hair sectioned into little pig tails, looking down at a plate of pastries with only one left. The little boy on the screen, blonde hair cut in a forties-style, gave the pouting little-Darcy the last pastry, and she watched as her face lit up with joy and she reached on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips.

Thirteen year old Darcy watched the video of her seven year old self and didn't remember any of it, despite the evidence in front of her telling her that it definitely happened. She touched her fingers to her lips, recalling the day before when she and Bruce had met behind the classroom building, nervous butterflies playing tennis in her stomach when he reached out and touched her hand. She looked at him, shorter than her by about an inch, and felt her heart skip a beat or twenty when he started to lean towards her. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, and when she felt his dry ones touch hers, her heart exploded. It was short and awkward, and after it was over Bruce pulled away and made a hasty retreat, leaving her standing with her back against the brick wall with her mind reeling and her heart soaring. Pressing her fingers against her lips, she imagined that she could still feel him there.

She looked at the video paused on the television before her, frame frozen on the image of a little girl kissing an embarrassed-looking boy.

The first time Darcy Lewis kissed a boy, she was seven years old. The first time she _really _kissed a boy, she was thirteen.

As Darcy got older, the difference between pretend and reality became more distinct. She took a drama class when she got to high school and became addicted, reveling in the rush that she got from standing before an audience of her peers, feeling their energy buzz electric around her. It helped her soar high above them, watching disassociated as her body acted out scenes and spoke words that weren't her own, cried and laughed with tears and joy that were written as words on faded pages and borrowed as queues from those around her. It was exciting, terrifying, and peaceful all at once, and she knew deep in her heart despite all the disapproving lectures and talk about how she 'had such potential' that _this _was what she wanted to do with her life.

She graduated high school and went to college, majoring in Drama and taking classes in Screenwriting on the side. By day she wrote and studied and by night she worked as a hostess, trying to save as much money as she could to help support herself when the day inevitably came that she would make the trek to Los Angeles. She landed another commercial job at eighteen, then another two at nineteen. She was working a late shift one night when a customer told her that she should audition as an extra for a movie to get some experience on genuine movie sets. She did and was chosen, a small speaking role that paid her a hundred bucks, and she did a few more before she landed a larger role in a small-budget movie. The director of that movie recommended she audition for another one, an artsy film produced by some big names looking for independent talent. She auditioned and got the part, a drunken ex-girlfriend of the lead actor played by the film's director, the famous and award-winning Phillip Coulson. The movie was called Vermillion Dreams and was filmed in a rented-out mansion during the summer in Los Angeles, sweet breezes of mountain air drifting through large bay windows and carrying the sweet smell of morning coffee and honeysuckle across the set every morning.

It was on the set of Vermillion Dreams that Darcy met the people who would become major players throughout the rest of her life, both professionally and personally, but none of them would ever affect her in such a profound way as the man cast as the son of the main protagonist. Nobody would ever make that line between pretend and reality so blurred, nobody would cause the tears and emotions her body displayed when acting to be drawn from so deep within, and nobody would be both the best thing that ever happened to her and ruin her life at the same time.

The first time Darcy Lewis kisses Loki Odinson, she's twenty two years old.

She's never _really _kissed him at all.

* * *

_A/N:_

_This is an introduction, just something that's been rattling around in my brain for a while that wanted to get out. It's emotional and angsty, and will take the form of a life-journey experience with each chapter touching upon a different movie/role in which Darcy and Loki interact._

_Let me know if anyone is interested and wants me to continue. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Vermillion Dreams - Shooting, Day One

_"I don't know how to kiss, or I would kiss you. Where do the noses go?"_

_- For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943__)_

xxxxxxxxx

Darcy looks at her face in the little compact mirror she carries in her purse and tries not to fret over the fact that she seems to be getting a pimple. A pimple. How many women in their twenties still get pimples?

A lot, apparently. Or so Jane tells her.

"Really Darcy, it's not that bad. They can work that out in makeup." Jane looks at her patiently across the small table at which they sit. They're at a small café down the street from the set of _Vermillion Dreams_, a local flavor called Good Vibes, sort of a combination between modern coffee shop and antique book store. Darcy's never been here before, to the café or this side of Los Angeles, and the extent of her time spent in coffee shops is generally the Starbucks across from her apartment complex.

Jane sips on her cappuccino, delicately holding the small cup in a thin hand. "They do it all the time, so you don't have to be so nervous," she assures her.

Darcy makes a huffing noise and tilts the mirror higher up to catch the sun behind her. It's around seven in the morning, the surrounding California neighborhood starting to make their way out of their million dollar mansions and head into town to buy organic groceries and free-trade coffee at the shops surrounding Good Vibes. Darcy's from San Francisco, but she's never seen so many Audis and Mercedes in her life.

She pokes with her finger at the small red spot on the side of her nose.

"I can't believe this is happening," she fumes quietly. Really, how lucky is she that on the first day of the biggest job of her life, she has the beginnings of a pimple? She hasn't had an acne problem since she was in high school, but the memories of those days are enough to make her hair curl. Red blotches on pale skin are definitely not a good combo.

Jane reaches across the table and gently places her hand on Darcy's arm. She presses down firmly, making Darcy drop the mirror and grudgingly look into her eyes.

"Darcy," she says in a tone that Darcy is quickly beginning to associate as mom-like. "Calm down."

"I am calm," Darcy says reflexively.

Jane quirks her eyebrow at her but doesn't say anything, instead lifting her cup once more to her lips.

Jane is Darcy's agent, a friend of the director who Darcy worked with on her first big "job". Well, until now, anyway. _Vermillion Dreams_ is the biggest job she's had to date, and the fact that it's the pet project of famous film actor Phillip Coulson – Oscar winner, Cannes Film Fest winner, SAG award winner, the list is long and terrifying – makes it even more of a Big Deal.

It's not just a big deal for her, but for everyone involved in the project. Jane is a junior agent at a large representation firm with offices around the globe. Darcy knows that she was just handed her as a client and she doesn't begrudge the other woman if she isn't too happy about it. She wouldn't be if she were in her situation. But, they both know that to get anywhere in this business and in this town, you have to start somewhere.

Right now, that means sipping ten-dollar cappuccinos at seven in the morning before heading over to the set to start day one of shooting.

Jane senses that Darcy's mood has calmed and she asks her, "Did you bring a copy of the script with you?"

Darcy starts. "Of course!" She fumbles for her large handbag, slung over the back of the chair, and retrieves a worn and tattered copy of the _Vermillion Dreams_ script, pages dog-eared and highlighted with her handwritten notes. She sets it down on the table and soothes the front page lovingly. It's a wonderful script, not so much for the content of the story (frankly, she thinks it sounds a little too soap opera-ish, what with the whole younger mistress and cheating spouses thing) but because it's her _first._

With major acting jobs, like with sex, you always remember your first.

"You'll be starting on the third scene this morning," Jane prompts her, pulling out her Blackberry and simultaneously texting and peering at Darcy over her fingers. "The one where James confronts Melanie about showing up at his house when his wife is home."

Darcy nods, then freezes. Her character is Melanie, the younger and emotionally-volatile mistress to the main character, played by Coulson.

"Oh…"she says slowly.

Jane pauses in her typing. Darcy sees her questioning look.

"It's just," she starts, flipping through the pages of her bookmarks to find the right page, "I didn't expect to be starting on such an…important…scene right away."

Or such an emotionally demanding one.

She tries not to panic. She's acted in emotional scenes before, performed Shakespeare on stage at school, and gone the route of making herself think terrible thingss about dying puppies so she can cry. She can do this…even if she is playing it cold opposite a screen legend. Right?

Jane senses her nervousness.

"He really is a nice man," she says. "Everyone he's ever worked with genuinely enjoyed the experience." She smiles warmly at Darcy. "He's especially fond of mentoring young actors."

Hence the reason why they chose her for this role. Darcy sighs, placated a little by Jane's reassuring words.

She flips through the script a bit, skimming her lines highlighted in different colors for different emotional tones. Pink for anger, blue for sadness, yellow for happiness…

"What about him?" she asks, pointing down at the script and taking a sip of her coffee. "James Jr.?"

Jane frowns and leans forward, typing something in on her phone once more. "Oh, him? Loki Laufeyson?" She shrugs, "he's fairly new as well - in America, at least." She sets down her phone and picks up her cup again. "His family is well known in Britain. They're like a dynasty over there." She chuckles, "like the Baldwins or Arquettes."

Oh.

"His brother is actually a pretty famous action star," Jane continues. "Thor Odinson."

Darcy almost drops her cup.

"Thor _Odinson_? They're brothers?"

Holy crap. The Odinsons are legendary, the entire family notoriously regarded for their acting chops and accomplishments. Dad, Mom, and now apparently both sons are in the business. The mother, Frigga, single-handedly redefined Darcy's perception of how female characters on stage should be played, a mixture of careful enunciation mixed with a whole lot of badass femininity. Thor, well, she's pretty sure that she bought a few copies of GQ and Esquire magazines over the years just so she could look at his spreads. He is deliciously gorgeous, tall and blonde with sparking blue eyes. If the brother is going to be anything like that, Darcy can see herself becoming very distracted very quickly.

"I think he's adopted. Or illegitimate, or something," Jane says. "That's why he changed his name when he started acting. Apparently it was quite the scandal."

Loki Laufeyson. Interesting.

"Speaking of," Jane looks up at something over Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy spins around in her seat, perching her hands on the back of her chair. She looks around, up and down the street, now teeming with a milling herd of customers filing in and out of shops carrying large bags of purchased items. She squints her eyes and lifts her hand to block the sun.

"What?"

A sudden shadow falls across her light, darkness filling the space in front of her where before the street and crowds occupied her view. She blinks and looks up. And up. And up.

The man standing in front of her is tall. Really tall. And thin, with shoulders that appear surprisingly broad for someone so lithe. He's wearing a dark pair of pants and an emerald green polo shirt, the top few buttons undone around his neck, pale skin peeking through. The first thing she sees of his face is his smile. It's dazzling: brilliant and open, with a feel of honesty to it that throws Darcy off for a moment as she treks her blue eyes to his green ones.

"Excuse me," he says politely. "I hate to interrupt. Are you Jane Foster?"

Darcy swivels back towards Jane so fast in her seat she almost gets whiplash. Jane smiles and stands up, brushing her hands down her thin figure and smoothing the lines of her dress. Moving around the table, she stands by Darcy's side.

"I am," Jane extends her hand. "You must be Loki."

They shake hands, arms held about a foot away from Darcy's head. She hasn't moved, staring up at Jane's face with her mouth open slack. She's never had this happen to her before. Is it because he's from a famous family? Is it because he's shockingly good looking in a way that she wasn't at all expecting given the rest of his family's appearance? Why is she being such a spaz?

_He's glamoured you, _her mind whispers tauntingly.

_Not helping, _she whispers back.

Jane meets her eyes and she widens her own, pleading for help.

"This is Darcy Lewis," Jane takes pity on her. Darcy scrambles upright and out of the chair, knocking into it and almost spilling her coffee and her script on to the floor. She lunges forward to catch them before they fall, but Loki is quicker, and he grabs the tattered binding before it falls off the table.

She inwardly cringes with mortification when she sees him looking at her notes, her fingers itching to snatch the script off the table and out of view.

"Yes, Darcy Lewis," he says and turns his bright eyes on her. "It's wonderful to meet you."

It takes Darcy a moment to realize that he's held out his hand for her to shake, and she gets her act together and takes his larger palm in hers.

She shakes awkwardly and clears her throat. "Hi," she says.

He smiles. "Hi."

She rubs her hand over her pants legs when they let go, brushing her palm against the fabric and forcing herself to take a deep breath. If she can't control herself the first time she meets someone semi-famous, what's she going to do when she meets Phillip Coulson? Faint on the spot? Definitely not her style.

"So, Miss Foster," Loki continues, gesturing his hands towards their empty seats and pulling another chair from the adjoining table. "Tony said that you were going to be in town." He waves away the waitress who approaches. "He suggested that I look you up."

Jane chuckles, "Really?" She shakes her head. "He didn't tell me about you at all." She sips her coffee daintily. "That sounds like Tony."

Loki smirks, green eyes sparkling. "It certainly does."

Jane sees Darcy's confused look and offers, "Tony is my boss. Well, he's everyone's boss, like the _boss _boss."

Darcy nods. Oh.

"Tony Stark?" she prompts, and Jane nods. Tony Stark is the owner, CEO, and resident god-like being of Stark Industries, the agency that Jane works for. Apparently he's like the President – only certain people get to see him and before they do they have to go through his wife, Pepper, who holds a world championship in reducing self-important sycophants to groveling schoolgirls. Guess Loki is pretty well connected to be on a first-name basis with him, but that's not really surprising considering his family.

She takes a moment to dreg the last remains of her coffee, subtly eyeing the man to her left out of the corner of her eye. Blonde and blue-eyed he is not. Rather, his hair is dark, cut slightly long and curling gently over his ears, and his green eyes are made even more vibrant by the color of his shirt – a conscious choice, she figures. In fact, the only thing he seems to have in common with the rest of his family is his height, his long legs bent outward as he reclines easily in the patio chair. Sprawling, that's the word, like a prince.

"So Darcy," he says, and she flicks her eyes quickly from his legs to his face, a smirk resting on the corner of his lips. "I've been told this is your first time."

It's a good thing there isn't coffee left in her cup, but it still doesn't stop her from almost choking and drowning at the same time.

"Um," she clears her throat. "Yeah. Well, not my first acting job." She sets the cup down carefully. "This is the first time I've been in a film like this."

He nods and slightly arches his eyebrow. He reaches down and brushes his thigh.

"What do you think of the script?"

Darcy looks at the document lying next to her arm. She opens her mouth to say something generic, to say that she really likes it, but stops when she looks up and sees his expression. He's gazing at her intently, long fingers steepled in front of his mouth.

"Actually," she begins, looking at Jane. Jane is busy typing on her phone and doesn't appear to be paying any attention to their conversation. She meets Loki's eyes again. "I think it's a little… obvious."

He doesn't say anything, but one eyebrow lifts higher. She swallows and soldiers on.

"I think the story is something that's been done before. A lot." She plants her feet firmly on the ground and straightens her spine, turning to face him more fully. "There doesn't seem to be anything that's remarkably _special _about this story, as compared to all the other ones like it."

Loki is silent for a moment, green eyes fixed on hers in thought. He tilts his head before lowering his hands to the table.

"Do you know the song 'You Belong to Me'?"

Darcy furrows her brow, thrown by his odd question.

"The Jo Stafford song?"

Loki smiles. "I think the more popular version is the one performed by Dean Martin, though there have been others done as well. Patsy Cline, for example, and Bob Dylan." He runs his hands along the table top. "Why is the Jo Stafford version the one that comes first to mind?"

Darcy searches her memory, imagining the song as it had last sounded playing through the speakers of her iPod. She listened to pieces of all those versions of the song when she looked for it in the online store, yet the Jo Stafford one is what she chose to buy.

"I like it best," she answers honestly.

He nods. "Why?"

She knows the answer to his question before he's even finished asking, the remembered tones of the sad melody flitting through her mind.

"Because of the performance. The way she sang the song was so emotional and heartfelt..."

She trials off, then frowns and feels like such an idiot. Of course the way a piece is performed makes all the difference in the quality of the final product. That's why not everyone can do Shakespeare, and why performances of it that are done right leave a lasting impression. The content of the story isn't as important as the delivery.

She shakes her head and laughs deprecatingly. "Touché."

Loki laughs, a refreshing sound of genuine joy. He has the good grace not to question her further. Either that or he knows her mortification has now reached new levels and doesn't want to rub it in.

He glances down at his wrist, watch glinting in the sunlight.

"I should go," he says and starts to stand. "I must meet with our esteemed director before filming." He drops his voice in mock-seriousness. "I've been summoned."

Jane chooses this moment to jerk back to reality and she stands along with Darcy and offers Loki her hand in farewell. "Don't mention the eye patch," she says good-naturedly.

"Eye patch?" Darcy asks.

Loki chuckles but doesn't answer, taking Darcy's outstretched hand. She looks up at his face, dark hair cast in shadow by the sun behind him and green eyes regarding her shrewdly.

"Until next time, Miss Lewis."

She swallows, "Uh, yeah. Sure thing."

He smirks at her and takes his leave, tall figure weaving through cafe tables and crowds of people, emerald shirt sparkling in the sun. Darcy watches him until he's gone from view, obscured by parked cars and manicured trees.

She turns back to the table, eyes landing on her script and the haphazard scrawl of words and colors that dominate the wrinkled pages. Jane is seated once more, eyes on her phone and another on the little menu in the center of the table. Darcy resumes her seat, blinking her eyes and shaking her head. She grabs the small placard from Jane's hand.

"Do you think it's too early to start drinking?"

* * *

_A/N: The Jo Stafford version of the song "You Belong To Me" is on the wonderful movie Deep Blue Sea featuring our favorite Brit. It's actually a good movie, though I probably wasn't paying that close attention because, you know..._


End file.
